


Dressed To The Nines

by thoughtless_dreamer



Series: Backstroke Kicks and Freestyle Flips [9]
Category: Free!
Genre: All the easter eggs, Anal Sex, And write the one where Makoto wears a super cute maid outfit, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Bottom Tachibana Makoto, Boys lovin' boys, Crossdressing, Cute swimming boyfriends, Except he doesn't think he looks pretty, Feelings, Fluff, Haru is a good boyfriend, I did so much reference for this, I really like writing boys in dresses, In which I finally pull through on my promise, Just sayin', Language, M/M, Makoto is really self-conscious, Nagisa is himself, Oral Sex, Reigisa also happens, Smut, Such strong feelings, Top Nanase Haruka, Which is always a warning in my works as you know, if you didn't guess, maid dresses, maid outfits
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-24
Updated: 2018-05-24
Packaged: 2019-05-10 11:59:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14736578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thoughtless_dreamer/pseuds/thoughtless_dreamer
Summary: When Makoto doesn't answer the door right away on the second Friday of the month, Haru's confused.  After all, they've shared a routine like clockwork ever since they were children.  However, nothing could have prepared him for the way Makoto greets him at the door, and he finds himself thrown for a loop.So it's only fair that Makoto is also baffled when Haru starts acting strangely after a day like any other.  Well, the Samezuka Cultural Festival.  Haru may be a mystery to nearly everyone, but he's always been an open book for Makoto.  Lately though, Makoto's been catching Haru staring a lot, mumbling with Rin--and then, of course, there's The Package.___In which an unexpected game of dress up proves to have a remarkable amount of repercussion for Haru and Makoto.





	Dressed To The Nines

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so this fic has been such a long time coming I don't even know what to say, except thank you, thank you, a million times THANK YOU to the most delightful **edenfire**. She is a gift that we do not deserve, except we are blessed with her _incredible_ art. Especially the glorious art of Makoto: In Dresses. These are my ambrosia. Thank you for stoking my inspiration with your truly remarkable talent. I hope that it's every bit as good as you had hoped for, darling, and that it was worth the wait -- this is 100% dedicated to you!
> 
> And a sincere thank you to my incredible boyfriend, who insisted on letting him read this so he could edit it to perfection. People usually pay him money for that, but he did this out of the goodness of his heart. I love you beyond measure and I don't deserve you either, but thanks for being mine and geeking out over gay sports anime with me this year. 
> 
> Lastly, I can't possibly forget to thank you, dear readers. I know it's been eons since I've been able to put anything out there into the world, but just under a year and a half ago I landed what can only be described as my dream job. As over the moon as I am to be there, my workload is essentially ride or die, which means I will stay insanely busy all the way up until our game releases at the end of the year. I was only able to write this because I wound up sick for an entire week after we hit our milestone. Getting the chance to write this has only gotten me more hyped to write again, and I have no intention of disappearing for quite so long again (so long as I have any say in the matter). Thank you for sticking with me, and without any further ado, please enjoy this ridiculous thing.

If there’s anything Iwatobi’s residents can be sure of, it’s that Haru and Makoto have always shared the same routine.

The neighboring boys are creatures of habit this way, always synchronizing their schedules to one another’s like clockwork, and it’s been like this ever since their youth. Seeing one without the other – now _that_ was something to raise an eyebrow at.

True, the start of their inseparability could be easily attributed to their parents, especially with Mr and Mrs. Nanase so busy, even when they stayed in Iwatobi to be with their young child, Haruka.

The powerhouse couple adored their son, and kept their demanding work strictly domestic for as many years as they could manage--spending as much time as possible with their son in the mornings and evenings, while grandma Nanase looked after him during the day.

But, even a grandmother as doting as Grandma Nanase was, had trouble keeping up with as vivacious a toddler as Haru. Regular playdates with the Tachibanas were a godsend for the Nanases, after their only son Makoto immediately hit it off in the sandbox at the playground all those years ago.

All those playdates with Haru were a gift for the Tachibanas, too, who were relieved that there was such a kind, patient, yet strong willed boy as Haru who would coax their shy, timid child out of his shell, and have him squealing with laughter as they raced each other home from school.

Now, over ten years later, those two boys walk to and fro by themselves, no parents in sight; although these days, they’re frequently accompanying the two smaller Tachibanas.

Sometimes there’s a redhead with them, bickering with a girl who bears a striking resemblance to him; other times there’s a boy with glasses who’s constantly being tugged along by a loud, curly haired blond. But no matter what, never one without the other.

Well – _almost_ never.

Because now, though all is the same as it always has been, it’s the second Friday of the month. This calls for an uneventful school-day morning followed by a typical school day that will wrap up with only a slight hiccup in routine in the evening.

But for now, at seven something in the morning, it starts out like any other day of the week -- with Makoto greeting Mrs. Tamura on his way up the steps of the shrine to retrieve Haru from his morning soak.

Haru knows Makoto has found a new pack of strays, because he babbles all about them to Haru from where he leans against the doorframe of Haru’s bedroom. Haru dresses himself, half amused and half perturbed because he _knows_ Makoto’s blocking him from nipping downstairs to grill himself some mackerel for breakfast.

(He’s managed to slink past him once this week, so he knows Makoto’s senses are at full alert again, today, there isn’t any point in trying.

They catch the train that comes a little earlier than then one they used to get as first years, getting to school a few minutes early to meet up with Nagisa, Rei and Gou, double-checking that everyone knows when they’ll be coming in to practice next week. Haru glances off longingly in the direction of the pool and lets out a resigned sigh as the final bell rings and they jog to their class – there won’t be any swimming today.

After all, it’s the second Friday of the month.

And now in the late afternoon, that means it’s one of the few days of the month where their usual synchronicity is interrupted.

On any other given weekday of the month, he and Makoto would immediately head to the convenience store, splitting their usual soda popsicle on the way home. But today, they pause on their way out with the throngs of students rushing out the school gates towards two days of freedom, wrestling their way through hand-in-hand towards the relative calm around the school’s bulletin board.

Haru squeezes Makoto’s hand three times as they free themselves from the hoard of students, and he bites back a smile at the three rapid squeezes he gets back before letting their grip fall apart as they reach their destination. Makoto flashes that soppy grin he loves so much at him as they pause, free of the push and pull of their classmates.

Makoto hikes his messenger bag strap into a more comfortable position on his shoulder and struggles to hide the hope from his poor attempt at a curious expression. “See you later?”

“Yeah,” Haru nods, and Makoto looks downright relieved. “Let me grab some groceries then drop my stuff off at home. I need to finish that one paper, then I’ll come over after that.”

Makoto _beams_ and shuffles a bit on his feet uncertainly, glancing around in what he probably _thinks_ is a subtle manner before Haru rolls his eyes and ducks in quickly to hide the equally stupid smile spreading on his lips. He plants a quick kiss to Makoto’s cheek, quietly delighting in the small, helpless sound of happiness his boyfriend makes. He quickly tries to school his face back into its usual cool expression, but he’s failed miserably if Makoto’s shining eyes are any indication.

“See you soon,” Makoto says, practically walking with a skip in his step as he quickly heads off towards the train station ahead of Haru. The dark-haired swimmer turns on his heel to walk the other way, heading to his favorite fish market while he happens to be on this side of town. It’s not a long errand, only about fifteen minutes out of the way, but Makoto has to get back home.

So Haru meanders in the market – lights up a bit when he notices the mackerel is on sale, and nabs four sweet rolls with the money left over; two melon pan, and one carefully selected strawberry and chocolate pan to complete his purchase.  

Errands out of the way, Haru wanders to the train station to head back to the neighborhood. He tries to ignore the confused double takes of not one but _two_ station employees serenely patrolling the platform of his track.

He settles for narrowing his eyes at the one who accidentally catches his eye when he seems to scan the people waiting around the lone swimmer, and Haru is satisfied when he looks away hastily, embarrassed at being caught.

He sits on the train, and then endures ignoring the confused whispers from a gaggle of girls he recognizes from the school track team. One girl is staring at him a little too obviously, whispering conspiratorially to another girl standing beside her.

She points not so surreptitiously at him when the other girls give her a dubious look. Immediately, another student – a girl Haru thinks he recognizes from homeroom, actually – smacks her hand down gently when with a reprimand (and a firm, probably louder than intended ‘ _don’t start gossip like that, Rika, we saw them outside literally an hour ago,’_ glancing back over to him and offering a shy, apologetic smile.

Haru gives a tiny nod, making a mental note to thank her on Monday, hopefully without Makoto noticing. His best friend gets pretty flustered over speculative gossip – what with all the chocolates from girls in other classes he still gets on Valentine’s even to this day. Not to mention the one or two imminent, tearful conversations that follow when White Day rolls around. Hopefully, any awkward instances have been evaded.

Haru thinks Makoto is too nice, sometimes, but it’s just another thing that makes Makoto _Makoto_ , and he would never change a thing.

Ten minutes later, he’s taking the stairs two at a time up to his house, pausing on the steps to bid goodnight to Mrs. Tamura as he passes her walking up the shrine steps. He stoops to gently rub under the chin of one of the more adventurous kittens that Makoto rambled on about earlier, a bushy tailed calico with big green eyes that sent Haru hurrying the rest of the way home at a brisker pace.

He promptly toes his shoes off and dumps his book bag on the floor beside them as he makes a beeline for the kitchen with his groceries, putting away the makings of dinner for the week. He takes care to separate the sweet rolls from the rest of his purchases, leaving them hanging in a bag on the hook by the backdoor.

Haru handles his English assignment without much ado and makes his way back down to the foyer an hour later, grabbing the bag of sweets off the hook and leaving the backdoor unlocked as ever.

Makoto may chide him constantly for it, but it’s not like Haru was about to chance Makoto being locked out _ever_ , now, was it?

It’s just after sunset when Haru walks up to the front door of the Tachibana household. He knocks on the door, well aware that it will no doubt be locked despite his expected arrival with the twins likely running amuck.

Haru isn’t exactly sure what he’s expecting when it takes Makoto longer than the average seven to ten seconds to open the door. Suffice to say, he’s intrigued when tonight, rather than the usual cheerfully swift greeting he’s accustomed to, he’s met instead with an oddly haggard-sounding, far-off _Sorry! Coming, I’m sorry--be right there Haru-chan, sor—Ran! **Ren**!  Will you just--!”_

Well, so much for their usual unusual pattern, Haru thinks, shifting the goods in his grip as he tips his head thoughtfully, curious about the mayhem clearly unfolding inside.

He stares blankly at the door and the sounds of a ruckus and muffled arguing beyond it. He blinks at the unexpected _clacking_ of heels headed down the hardwood floor, rather than Makoto’s heavy, sock-softened footfalls.

The sound actually makes Haru frown a bit--he’d been under the impression that the Tachibanas were out for the evening, but it sounds like Mrs. Tachibana’s home.

It’s just that it’s the second Friday of the month -- it _is_ , isn’t it? Haru knows just as well as any of the Tachibanas that _that_ means it’s date night for the parents.

Haru and Makoto have been sharing responsibility for this routine for years, making sure not to have plans of any sort beyond watching the twins for what sometimes ends up being their parents’ one guaranteed night out a month.

It’s something Mr and Mrs Tachibana have been endlessly grateful for, always more than happy to let Haru stay the night of, as a token of thanks.

This isn’t to say they could _ever_ mind Haru’s quiet, unexpected company; but in the last two years, they’ve had to bite back knowing smiles at the boys’ bashfulness about being caught curled up together. Well, Makoto’s. They’ve practically raised Haru as if he was their fourth child, and they know better than to think he could ever be embarrassed about anything.

Haru idly slides his free hand into his pocket to check the date and time on his cell—did he get it wrong, after all -- had plans changed? but he lets out a _tsk_ a moment later, recalling that his mobile is still on his desk, as usual.

He _knows_ it has to be some time after seven, though – he’d texted Makoto around six that he’d be late coming over since he wound up losing track of the links for five of his sources for their essay, and he’d spent over an hour tracking them down again—much longer than he would have liked to leave Makoto entertaining the twins on his own.

But he’d been so sure it was the _second_ Friday _—_

Ah, maybe his parents had made later reservations--

_“Sorry Haru-chan--! I-I really am coming right now!”_

A faint smile makes its way onto his lips at the distant apology called from somewhere the behind the door, and he’s surprised he doesn’t hear the usual mild scolding from Mrs Tachibana at that sort of volume indoors. _Especially_ when the _clack clack clacks_ of heels gets louder.

Everything becomes abundantly clear however, when the door swings open to reveal a rather frazzled looking swimmer—with two equally frazzled, whining twins hot on his heels.

Haru means that, literally. _His heels_.

Because he finds himself looking _up_ at Makoto.

Now, that being said – while Haru has had many years to adjust to looking up at Makoto rather than down to meet his eyes ever since his growth spurt in middle school, Makoto is towering a good three inches higher than he usually does, and.

Wow.

Did he mention? Makoto’s wearing high heels.

“You’re wearing high heels,” Haru points out mildly, and he figures he deserves the uncharacteristic eye roll it earns him, because that may have been beyond bluntly obvious, even for him.

“Yes. High heels and a dress. You know, I’d actually realized that for myself, but thank you, Haru,” Makoto replies flatly. There’s a smile itching to spread across Makoto’s lips, though, and the relief that _Haru’s finally here_ is evident in his eyes.

“‘And a—’” Haru echoes, and does a double take, glancing down to the space _between_ Makoto’s harried face and his high-heeled feet, and finally, _finally_ notices the ill-fitting dress Makoto has so helpfully pointed out  
  
“And a dress,” Haru finally repeats slowly, blinking owlishly once, twice, three times before tilting his head back to meet Makoto’s eyes again and… _wow_ he’s _really tall_.

“We’re playing dress up, Haru-onii-chan,” Ran chirps as she lets go of Makoto’s hip to tug on Haru’s free hand, previous ire evaporating at the sight of her favorite big-brother-best-friend, urging him through the doorway and finally startling Haru into stepping past the threshold. “It was _my_ turn to pick a game because _Ren_ won't stop making us play his _stupid_ card game and it lasts for- _ev-_ er _\--_ ”

“It was _my turn to pick_! _”_ Ren interjects loudly, plainly offended, and he tugs at Haru’s shirt insistently for attention, scowling at Ran on his other side before looking up at Haru with wide, pleading eyes. “It doesn’t _always_ go on that long but _Ran_ was whining the _who-ole time,_ so it took—”

“So, Makoto’s wearing a dress,” Haru prompts patiently, and the twins turn away from their quickly brewing tantrum to beam up at Haru in tandem.

“I’ve never seen Onii-chan in a dress,” Ren tells Haru conspiratorially. Ran nods, bouncing on her toes as she clasps her hands together beneath her chin in delight.

“Me neither! But Onii-chan said I could pick what to play after the card game, and I wanted to play dress up and Mama looked _so_ pretty the last time they went out to dinner—”

“—But Mama’s dress is too big for Ran and—”

“--And _I_ wanted to see how pretty Onii-chan would look. I knew he would! Isn’t he pretty?” Ran gushes happily to Makoto’s growing mortification, if the hand over his face is any indication.

“He looks very pretty, Ran” Haru assures her earnestly, biting back a smirk at Makoto’s look of baffled surprise, his cheeks turning cherry red.

God, Makoto’s so cute.

“Haru, Mom’s gonna _kill_ me if Ran gets her way and zips this up,” Makoto doesn’t _quite_ whine, gesturing weakly to the, admittedly straining, materiel along the back. It’s a zipper, and it’s barely up to the middle of his spine, and there’s no way in a thousand years it’s going to go any higher without tearing if Makoto’s broad shoulders have any say in the mater.

In any case, it’s all Haru can do to bite back the urge to stare at the sight, watching Makoto squirm beneath the strain of the dress—

And **_nope_** _–_ there is _absolutely **no way**_ in hell he is going to be having these kinds of thoughts with the twins staring guilelessly up at them. Haru clears his throat and opens the bag of treats, pulling out the chocolate and strawberry pan to show the twins.

“Why don’t we play with Makoto’s hair and eat these after dinner instead, Ran?” Haru offers offhandedly, keeping his face schooled into a casual expression—he knows she’s hooked by the way her mouth drops open in delight, a welcome shift from the unhappy pout she was starting to sport. “That way, your mom doesn’t get upset about getting sugar on her nice dress, and we can _still_ make Makoto look really pretty?”

It’s all Haru can do not to burst into a smirk at Makoto’s look of utter betrayal, but even Ren is bouncing in glee at the prospect of making his brother look silly, so Makoto keeps his mouth shut, mouth in a tight line that Haru suspects is to keep his own helpless smile at bay as well.

They take a quick trip upstairs to put the dress back in his parent’s closet, where they will hopefully be none the wiser. Haru helps Makoto carefully out of the dress he’d barely managed to squeeze himself into – thankfully without any incident – and he does _not_ think about how soft and slick and cool the silk feels against his fingers before giving way to the warmth of Makoto’s skin, or the way his heart jolts into his throat when Makoto toes off the shoes, his strong feet slipping free of the dark green suede pumps.

He puts it behind him for the rest of the night of course, and doesn’t think about it again.

He doesn’t think about it while they’re tying what seems like all of Ran’s trove of ribbons and bows into Makoto’s hair, or when the twins are finally asleep between them in the living room while he and Makoto fight as silently as possible to the bitter end of Rainbow Road.

He doesn’t think about it after they tuck the twins into bed, either. He puts it out of his head that weekend when they remember the two essays they have due before midterms.

But he’s forgotten what was advertised on the school bulletin board for next week that they’d met up beside earlier that day, before parting ways. He won’t forget too much longer.

________________________________

Walking through Samezuka’s cultural festival was really overwhelming compared to their smaller school campus. Haru stuck close to Makoto’s side, letting Rei’s excited observations wash over him, keeping a close eye on Nagisa as the small blond spun around in every direction, visibly brimming with excitement as his pink gaze flicked around the assembled stalls.

He knew it was only a matter of time before Rei would have to try in vain to rein their teammate in as he frolicked from vendor to vendor, and was trying to relish the relative calm before the storm—

Which was abruptly over, if Nagisa yelling into his ear and grabbing his wrist in one hand and jabbing violently towards something with the other was any indication.

“Hey! Look at that! It’s Samezuka-chan!” Nagisa exclaims, bouncing on the heels of his feet as they pause to take in the Day-Glo red shark prancing in front of them.

 _“What in the world--”_  
  
“Samezuka Academy’s mascot character!” Nagisa beams, swinging his head to glance up at Haru with shining eyes, who’s considering the mascot thoughtfully.

“So they have one,” Makoto mulls dubiously aloud, glancing down on Haru’s other side to see Haru’s reaction, well aware of his odd fondness for their own Iwatobi-chan. Sure enough, Haru’s eyes are soft with that strange admiration.

“Nice,” Haru murmurs, but Makoto can tell he’s reluctant to show how much the display pleases him. Makoto can’t help but laugh a little, nudging Haru’s shoulder with his own.

“It does suit your tastes,” he teases gently, and Haru chooses to ignore him in favor of watching the mascot’s routine, plainly enraptured. Makoto grins, leaning up gently against Haru, enjoying his boyfriend’s quirky affection for mascots. He wonders if Haru is planning on trying to draw him later for the swim team, much like he enjoys drawing Iwatobi-chan for theirs…

Makoto’s green eyes shift over to watch Rei chastise Nagisa for running ahead to ruin his appetite before they’ve even made it to the Samezuka’s swimming club’s booth-- though truth be told, they still don’t know if there’s anything there that they’ve meant to save their appetite for, what with Rin warning them that under no circumstance were they to come.

Needless to say, of course they had to after _that._

Truth be told, he’s getting a little hungry himself, and he’s so caught up considering whether or not to follow Nagisa’s lead and grab a snack that he’s completely blindsided when Haru trips into him all of the sudden.

Makoto yelps, fumbling to steady the dark haired boy who looks as surprised as Makoto, but once steadied, he quickly pulls away to drop down to his knees, reaching his hand out to help a young lady clad in black and white up to her feet, presumably gussied up for the maid café--

Makoto’s train of thought freezes, and he tries to puzzle out what seems so out of place about the circumstance. After all, it’s not as though maid cafés are all that uncommon for high school clubs…

“Hey, are you okay?” Haru asks, gently easing her to her feet, waiting until she’s wobbled to an uncertain balance on her shiny kitten heels.

“Thank you…”

 _Now_ Makoto is more confused than ever, trying to work out why this voice raises a flag. There’s something _so familiar_ about her, but it’s not like he would recognize her as a classmate from his own school… students from other schools wouldn’t be participating here.

“Haru-chan’s like a prince!” Nagisa gushes, clapping his hands with glee, and Makoto bites the inside of his lip – Haru _does_ looks charming side by side with someone with such a cute, short stature and such a cute, feminine vibe. He tells himself the weird pang feeling in his stomach is just the irritation of not being able to place this weird déjà vu–

“What a beautiful young lady!” Rei chimes in agreeably, never one to miss out on an opportunity to praise a pleasing aesthetic, and _that’s_ when it hits Makoto.

“Wait…” Makoto says, finally piecing together what seems so off about this whole situation. “What’s a girl doing in an _all-boy’s school?”_

“Ah--!”

_“Nitori-kun!?”_

Nitori blinks up from where he’s frantically smoothing out the pleats of his dress, tilting his head and finally taking their group in for the first time. Immediately, a smile lights up his face, albeit a little embarrassed.

“The Iwatobi team! So you came?” He asks, bowing and thanking Haru profusely as the older teen calmly collected the groceries he’d dropped in his tumble.

“We just arrived,” Rei starts to explain but he’s immediately cut off as Nagisa zooms forward, fluffing Nitori’s dress with delight.

“Ai-chan you’re so cute!” He gushes, reaching out to _swish_ the fabric of Nitori’s skirts and making him squeak.

“P-Please stop!”

“Ahhh!! It’s so fluttery!”

“Nagisa…” Makoto warns, steering the dazzled blond away, trying to ease Nitori back into a reasonable comfort zone.

“Is this for the club’s booth?” He asks, warily dropping his hands from Nagisa’s shoulders.

“That’s right!” Nitori nods firmly, his tone a little more serious than Makoto is honestly ready to handle, given the contrast to what the other boy is wearing. “Samezuka swimming club’s tradition – ‘The Maid Café From Hell!’”

“No way--!

“Is Rin also a maid?!” They practically demand this unison, with various degrees of doubt and delight, while Nagisa’s sheer decibel sends a couple of startled birds flying, and makes more than a few heads turn around them.

Makoto has to cover his mouth to muffle a snort of laughter as Rei nearly shoves Nagisa over with how hard he claps his hands over Nagisa’s mouth.

 _“Nagisa!”_ he says heatedly, face beet red. “Please contain yourself!” He yelps in disgust and pulls his hands away as if burned, wiping them on the side of his pants with a glower at Nagisa who smacks his lips teasingly.

“But how can I,” Nagisa grins impishly, moving forward again to circle Nitori, still clearly enthralled, “knowing our rival team looks sooo pretty today? Aaah, Ai-chan, I can’t get over it! You pull that dress off so well!”

“A-ahh! P-please stop touching me H-Ha-Hazuki-san..!”

“But it’s so _soft!"_ Nagisa squeals happily, eyes sparkling with trouble as he playfully grasps one of Nitori’s wrists and awkwardly twirls the spluttering, blushing boy. He lets out a bubbly laugh at the way the fabric swirls effortlessly around the silveret’s tights with a soft _swoosh_ , _oohing_ and _aahing_ even more as he notices the way the silky black fabric shifts gently over the white frills.

Abruptly, Makoto notices how oddly still Haru’s gone beside him—and despite the admittedly hilarious antics happening in front of him, Makoto finds his gaze drawn to the side, startled to see the fascinated small ‘ _o’_ of Haru’s mouth as he watches the fabric flutter, his grip slackening a little on the bag of groceries he’s collected neatly once more.

“WAIT!! Are those _layers_ \-- _is there a petticoat_ _too?!”_ Nagisa gasps, fingers waggling dangerously.

“—and, I mean, we d-don’t know each other _that_ well,” Nitori is still determinedly stuttering to get words out as he knots his fingers into his apron anxiously, eyes fixed on the ground, clearly grasping at his final vestiges of patience. “So if you could please just _stop calling m_ e tha-- ** _aaHH!_** ”

“ ** _Nagisa._** ”

 _“Nagisa-kun—!”_ Haru and Rei bark and yelp, respectively, Rei dropping his face into his hands in exasperation while Haru reaches forward with one hand to pull Nagisa back by his collar none too gently from where he’d trying to lift Nitori’s skirt for a peek.

“Get out from there, you idiot,” Haru sighs, as he hands a desperately grateful and nearly trembling Nitori his groceries. “Your boyfriend doesn’t appreciate it.”

Nagisa’s trembling lower lip and kicked puppy eyes vanish in an instant at Haru’s words, and he hovers over to Rei, eyes wide and innocent.

Rei fixes him with a dour look, still red-faced but clearly preparing himself for whatever nonsensical claims came out of his smaller teammate’s mouth _this_ time.

“Aww _Rei-chan_ ," Nagisa coos, “I just wanna see how it’s put together!~ You said it yourself earlier, how much Ai-chan looks like a beautiful young lady! And Haru-chan looked so charming next to him!” Nagisa trails off, fixing Rei with a pointed look and making Makoto’s stomach flip funnily again.

Rei just stares back, unimpressed. Nagisa huffs and links an elbow with one of Rei’s.

“I’m just _say-ing…._ If _I_ dressed up like your cute maid, you could be my _bea-u-tiful_ master!” Nagisa gushes sweetly, hands clasped behind his back as he sways on the balls of his feet. Rei goes beet red as Nagisa drops this bomb on him, and Makoto _swears_ that he sees color rise to Haru’s cheeks just before he turns on his heel, falling into step beside Nitori as he guides them to their clubroom.

He trails behind the group, glancing up at Haru leading the way with Nitori in the front, and he can’t help but wonder at how Haru looks unfathomably handsome and tall beside Nitori’s petit stature; until he can’t help but let his eyes slide over to little Nagisa skipping along beside tall, angular Rei, watching him tug Rei down to whisper into his ear and making him splutter.

Yeah, he faintly finds himself agreeing, Nagisa _would_ look really cute in that dress beside Rei, wouldn’t he?

________________________________

They have a great time at The Maid Café From Hell, and an even greater time with the rest of the club during the water fight, and then they cap the evening by drying off beside the bonfire.

It’s been a great day. It really has. Haru and Souske seem to have settled whatever weird vibe there was between them, and everyone is full and tired and happy

It’s just.

Makoto tries to shake away that annoying creeping feeling that’s been bothering him all day, keeping a small smile plastered on his face as he turns away from Momo and Nagisa’s loud pun-off, where they seems to be competing to make Nitori the most exasperated.

He glances past Rei where he’s sitting, enraptured, as he listens to Souske explain practicing proper swimming warm-ups to catch a glimpse of Haru. He wandered off with Rin about ten minutes ago with the promise of grabbing the makings of s’mores.

Sure enough, their arms are piled high with their haul from the nearby stall handing out supplies, but they’ve been paused a little ways away from the crowd for the last few minutes, having some sort of pow-wow. It may just be the fire, but he thinks, all the way from over here, Haru looks awfully red. Even if Makoto was wrong about that, he couldn’t miss the smirk on Rin’s face--not when the redhead’s face has always been an open book, as long as they’ve known him.

As if he can feel Makoto’s gaze, Haru’s eyes catch his and he abruptly nudges a snickering Rin’s shoulder sharply with his own, nodding his head back towards their impromptu campsite and prompting their short journey back.

The two sit back down with the goods to happy exclamations all around, and they all get busy with the assembly of their treats. Makoto smiles up at Haru in thanks, and feels a little chill despite the warmth from the fire when Haru’s eyes flicker almost guilty away, and he glances down to focus on stacking his own s’more.

Makoto shakes the uncomfortable feeling of being unable to read what’s on Haru’s mind for the first time since he can remember.

After all, that train of thought derails as he throws himself forward to stop Nagisa from trying to shove a still-smoking marshmallow directly into his mouth.

________________________________

**_“Gah!”_ **

Makoto is so busy breathing hot breath into his frigid hands that he nearly trips flat on his face as he stumbles over something on his way up the steps leading up to the back door of Haru’s house.

In all honestly, it’s only thanks to _years_ of practice frantically flapping to maintain his footing against Nagisa’s deliberate attempts to trip him into various pools that keeps him from smashing his nose into the door.

(Never in a million years did he think he’d be saying this, not even _silently_ , he wonders with dry amusement, but really -- thanks for that, Nagisa)

The brunet lets out a shaky sigh of relief, one hand splayed over his chest as he closes his eyes, steadying himself before glancing down to glare accusingly at the culprit.

It doesn’t take long for exasperation to be replaced with curiosity as he ponders The Package.

And it _is_ quite a package. It’s huge—nearly coming up to _Makoto’s_ knees—it was really a wonder he’d even missed it in the first place. It didn’t look particularly ostentatious—maybe even a little worn looking, but there were no labels or anything… just _for Nanase_ hastily scribbled on one side with what looked like pencil..?

Then again, Makoto ponders, tilting his head a bit, it wasn’t as if Haru made a habit of ordering things. Come to think of it, he can’t actually _remember_ the last time Haru had gotten a package. Mr. and Mrs. Nanase knew better than to expect their son to stay home to make sure the postal service didn’t arrive to an empty house (even if he was, chances were he’d flat out ignore the bell).

The Tachibanas had been receiving the Nanase household’s packages for _years_ —and it wasn’t as if they came more than once in a blue moon, and there was almost always someone home.

 _Now_ Makoto’s interest is piqued in earnest. What could it possibly be? Haru had never been one to spend money on, well, much of _anything_ , really.

…Other than swimsuits, that is, and he _never_ bought a pair that he hadn’t tried on for the fit first. And had received his boyfriend’s, er.  _Blessing_ on, he thought, biting his lip as if it could keep the color from rising to his cheeks, unbidden.

Makoto bends over, hands braced against his knees as he studies the unmarked but carefully packed box.

“Huh,” he wonders, eyes curiously roving over the box a couple of times. It wasn’t anything familiar, just looked like something from…maybe a clothing company. If there was a stamp on it, it was pretty faded… Maybe it was something Haru’s parents bought for him and sent home? But it was so vague—it could really go either way--

“Peeking at your neighbor’s mail, Makoto? How nosy.”

Makoto jerks in surprise and whips his head up, startled green eyes meeting bright blues ones—and he blushes, realizing that he’s been pretty much staring at a box for god-knows-how-long, while Haru looked on for an equally uncertain amount of time.

“S-sorry, Haru-chan,” Makoto stammers with a laugh, flustered at being caught peering at his best friend’s mail, but Haru only shakes his head, eyes glimmering with amusement.

“Why are you even apologizing right now, honestly—I saw you nearly trip and die because I was too lazy to bring it in sooner, _I_ should be the one saying sorry,” Haru chides affectionately, grabbing the package easily (it seems oddly light for its size, Makoto notes curiously before he can help himself) and reaching up on his tiptoes to steal a soft kiss from the corner of Makoto’s mouth.

“You ready to go?” Makoto asks, desperate to change the subject. Haru’s mouth curves into a smirk and he _knows_ Haru’s debating whether or not to let him off easy. His shoulders slump in relief when Haru makes a sound of approval in the back of his throat, turning on his heel to retreat back into the warmth of his house.

“Must’ve left it here yesterday after joint-practice,” Makoto thinks he hears Haru mutter to himself under his breath, before throwing a _“be right back”_ over his shoulder and padding away.

Makoto trails after him into the foyer eager for a few moments of warmth this unseasonably chilly mid-October morning but pauses just inside the doorway, interest piqued once more as Haru promptly bounds up the stairs with his prize rather than dumping it unceremoniously onto the kitchen table like he normally would.

The tall swimmer leans back against the doorjamb, idly wondering what it could be, but far too embarrassed already to even bother trying to bring it up—he knows he’d be teased mercilessly for his obvious curiosity (and yeah, he’d kind of deserve it).

Makoto silently counts down from ten in his head; whenever Haru makes a trip back upstairs to his room, he likes to make a game of guessing how long it’ll take Haru to get back downstairs.

There’s still no sign of his boyfriend when he reaches _one_ , and so he adds another fourteen seconds.

Fourteen seconds pass, and Makoto’s dark brows pinch together in confusion. Still no sign of Haru.

Now _that_ was unusual—Haru never lollygags around when Makoto was at the door – well, _maybe_ when he wanted to be difficult and sneakily cook himself some fish for breakfast, but he hasn’t come downstairs from the bedroom… he couldn’t have missed that.

And, uh well…then again, when they wake up _together_ , now _that_ was an entirely different story, he thinks, blushing hard enough at the thought alone that he hurriedly pats at his cheeks, as if _that_ would be any help.

But still -- Haru never keeps Makoto waiting for more than a minute, on an average school day.

Haru strolls down the stairs a full three-minutes later, hands gripping the strap of his messenger bag as he descended the stairs. Makoto tilts his head at him.

“Did you forget to do an assignment?” Makoto asks suspiciously as he pushes his weight up onto his feet and off the wall, and Haru rolls his eyes at Makoto’s tone, exasperated.

“No, _mom_ ,” he grumbles, but he’s losing the fight to keep his mouth downturned, fingers already grazing Makoto’s as they start their venture to the train station.

It could just be leftover from his morning soak, Makoto ponders, but he thinks Haru’s palm feels sweaty in his.

________________________________

It shouldn’t be weighing so heavily on his mind in the first place, Makoto thinks sulkily, crisscrossing his legs again for the _third time_ just fifteen minutes into their first period class.

It’s not like it’s his business! And for _god’s sake-–_ it’s _just a package_ —people order things online _all the time!_

 _Not Haru_ , the little obnoxious voice that just _won’t shut up_ helpfully pipes up, as it does each and every time he tries to push the thought from his mind. He sinks a little lower in his chair, as though that could help him can escape it. _Haru never bothers ordering anything off the Internet._ _Haru never bothers buying **anything** if it isn’t for swimming, or dinner_.

Which is really what it all comes back to, wasn’t it?

In all his seventeen years, Makoto has yet to see the day where Haru voluntarily goes off shopping on his own without asking his boyfriend to accompany him.   It has always gone without saying that Makoto will tag along wherever Haru goes, and vice versa.

Makoto can’t actually remember the last time he’s bought anything without Haru’s input. Direct input. Complete with admiring stares.

Biting his lip, Makoto shakes his head once, hard, as if to clear his head and stares determinedly down at the paper before him, squinting down at the question he’s read about seven or eight times now, as if it will _actually_ it stick this time.  

The back of Makoto’s neck prickles not for the first or even third time this class, but this time he indulges himself to turn his head just enough to glance over to Haru at his spot by the window—he’s just quick enough to catch a fleeting glimpse of blue, not to mention Haru’s pencil rolling from his fingers onto the desk.

He blinks in surprise, but Haru’s gaze is fixed out towards the pool with it’s usual longing. It all happens so quickly, Makoto think he may have imagined it, but _he knows_ he knows better, and the hint of rosiness in Haru’s cheeks is a dead giveaway.

Makoto arches an eyebrow back in Haru’s direction now that he’s certain Haru’s sneaking glances at him, knowing he’ll see it, but Haru doesn’t respond at all so Makoto turns back to face the front of the class in kind, uncrossing and crisscrossing his ankles once more.

There’s a new question eating at him now, and it’s almost worse than the one before.

What on _earth_ is on Haru’s mind that’s enough to make him blush?

Because, _Haru?_ _Blushing?_

Haru has _never_ been prone to embarrassment, for himself _or_ others, and quite frankly Makoto can’t remember the last time Haru’s face was _red_ , aside from the time he and Rin got those stupid goggle-shaped sunburns from staying out too long racing each other – and that’s not nearly the same thing.

(Which Nagisa and Souske still haven’t let them forget. Makoto actually thinks that’s when the unlikely pair found a mutual interest aside from swimming and really started to bond.)

He figures he must somehow play a role in whatever’s eating at Haru, judging by the way he was quick to look away—Haru may certainly shy away from eye contact from just about anyone else, but he’s _never_ had difficulty meeting Makoto’s gaze (just one more thing about his boyfriend that Makoto is absurdly delighted by)—but he honestly has no idea what this could be about.

It drives him crazy for the rest of the period, and then the next three hours after _that,_ before Makoto is saved from the niggling questions he doesn’t know how to voice when they actually have to focus on their English assignment.

Which only ends with them running off to swim practice, and by then Haru’s giving his usual monosyllabic responses where they’re expected between Makoto and Nagisa’s chatter as the team walk towards the train station eating their respective popsicles.

There’s no hint that anything is weighing on Haru’s mind anymore, and so Makoto lets it slip from his own as well, determinedly pushing the last of his curiosity respecting Haru’s mail.

He doesn’t think about it for a couple of weeks, and it doesn’t come up.

Well. Not for about a month, to be precise.

Because then it’s his birthday, and – well. There’s a slight miscommunication.

 

 

Okay, honestly, it’s Nagisa’s fault.

________________________________

Makoto loves celebrating his family’s birthdays; he loves celebrating his friend’s birthdays; but it’s always a little weird and embarrassing when the people he loves make a fuss over him.

Every year, it’s Haru who makes it a point to greet Makoto first in the morning – Makoto usually wanders downstairs sleepily to bump into the smell of mackerel in his kitchen, and the twins bouncing off the walls in delight at the surprise of Haru-onii-chan so early in the morning. His parents smile over their mugs of coffee at one another, and thank Haru graciously for making such a nice birthday breakfast for their eldest.

Haru makes enough for everyone, and insists on sitting on Makoto’s left so he can hold his hand while they eat, struggling to eat with his off-hand despite Makoto’s laughing protests, which inevitably winds up with Makoto feeding his boyfriend with his own chopsticks, laughter brightening his sleepy eyes.

They leave from Makoto’s together for a change and head to school, where for the last two years they’ve found Gou waiting with cookies or chocolates of some kind (this year, she’s tried her hand at making mochi with varied degrees of success depending on the filling, and Makoto couldn’t be more touched.)

Nagisa bursts into their homeroom (another new custom of the last two years) and descends upon the homemade treats despite Gou’s loud protests. Rei skids in gasping for breath about twenty seconds behind him, doing his best to pull his small boyfriend away from the desk before he can shove _any more_ sugary goodness into his cheeks.

The riot calms down as Miho walks in, and it only takes one look from her to send Nagisa slinking out the door behind Rei for cover, who apologizes profusely for their intrusion.  

The day goes on without a hitch after that, because everyone knows to wind up at Haru’s house, free to sprawl out with whatever junk food and soft drinks they bring along with them and be as loud as they please, until it’s too late to be loud and raucous any longer, and there are last trains to catch.

“Hey, hey, Mako-chan,” Nagisa says after everyone has bid Makoto their good wishes and good byes, in what he must think is a conspiratorial whisper into Makoto’s ear, but makes the brunet wince laughingly away.

“What is it, Nagisa?” Makoto asks in amusement, swiping the back of his hand against the bridge of his nose to wipe away an inexplicable streak of strawberry jam away – how did it not get wiped off when he’d pulled his sweater over his head...?

Nagisa’s clearly too hopped up on sugar to care, because he just shushes him loudly in response. “I have to show you something!” he says, in that same loud whisper – but no one is paying attention.

Everyone is far too engaged busy watching Souske and Rin battle it out on the porch in one last, quickly escalating arm wrestling match, with Gou throwing herself onto Rin’s arm and Momo yelling as he throws his weight on Souske’s side. Nitori and Rei are yelling about ruining the accuracy of the outcome, and Haru is leaning up against the doorframe as he watches from behind the crowd around the match, trying to hide a grudging smile.

Apparently, Makoto is smiling stupidly at his boyfriend for a little too long, because Nagisa jumps to his feet to tug at Makoto’s arm. Makoto chuckles and obligingly lets himself be pulled along, amused as ever at how easy it is to delight his short teammate by going along with his antics.

“C’mon, c’mon,” Nagisa squeals as he _thuds_ loudly up the stairs. Makoto casts a quick look over his shoulder at the foyer before ascending after him, but everyone is still fully engaged in the match of a lifetime outside, and the sound is quite frankly drowned out by Seijuro’s uproarious laughter at something his younger brother yells at Rin.

“Hurry _up,_ Mako-chan! Don’t be a slowpoke, _look!”_ Nagisa exclaims devilishly, running into Haru’s open bedroom door. Makoto raises an eyebrow as he follows after the blond, crossing his arms and trying to give him the sternest look he can muster when all he can see is Nagisa’s butt waggling from where he’s thrown himself headlong into Haru’s clost.  

“Is _this_ where you disappeared to for, like, half an hour when we were playing Sardines and _no one_ could find you, Nagisa?” he chides, biting back a smile. “You _know_ we said Haru’s room was off—”

“Yeah, but, like, then I wouldn’t be the best friend _ever_ and found you the mother lode of all birthday presents, now, would I?” Nagisa says triumphantly, and it takes Makoto a few seconds longer than it probably should have to process what he’s seeing and—

“Nagisa, hang on, I don’t think that’s—” Makoto starts, but it’s too late because Nagisa has already shoved the box into Makoto’s grip and reached up on his tiptoes to pat his head.

“You’re _welcome!_ I’m jealous, by the way, it’s _super_ cute but waaay too big for me—like, I had to try, y’know?—but anyway, send me pics, mkay?”  With an exaggerated wink and…. finger guns? Nagisa frolics out of the room, ambling loudly down the stairs and yelling his prediction of the outcome of the match.

Makoto stands there in stunned, awkward silence before looking down uncertainly, because sure enough, Nagisa has clearly done the honors and peeked at…whatever it was himself.

(No doubt the blond found the box while his friends searched hopelessly for him for nearly a half hour until, giving up, they yelled at him to come out from wherever he was hiding. Any curiosity facing Nagisa’s boredom was doomed.)

He doesn’t have to look the box over to know what this package is. Well—obviously not the contents, per se, but it hasn’t been quite long enough for him to forget what the box that he’d tripped over and spent the better part of a day mulling over about a month ago looked like.

And, well. The box _is_ open…but while Nagisa had left the folds of cardboard untucked, all Makoto can see is some dark, silky sort of--

There’s a loud _thud_ from outside and an even louder exclamation of _‘NAGISA’_ followed by peals of laughter outside, and the box goes tumbling out of Makoto’s arms as he jumps in surprise, upending the badly repackaged contents onto the floor beneath the box, and Makoto covers his mouth in embarrassment.

“Oh god dammit,” Makoto moans, smacking a hand over his face as he drops down helplessly onto his knees, hesitating and mumbling a flustered _“sorry Haru sorry sorry sorry”_ under his breath before setting the box right-side-up, intending to quickly shove whatever it was back in the box and pack it _properly_ and never, ever mention it again--

Except.

He freezes as he finds his hands full of ruffled pleats that he immediately recognizes as strikingly similar to the one from the cultural fair not so long ago, except this satin fabric is green.

Stunned, he dazedly lifts the garment up by its puffy sleeves and he immediately realizes it’s far too big for Haru, let alone Nagisa or Nitori. Two twin _thuds_ hit the floor softly as he shakes the dress out for a better look, and – oh.

There are matching shoes. _Large_ shoes.

His mouth, which has been hanging open in bewilderment, abruptly snaps shut as he feels his face flush so hard, he’s shocked he doesn’t simply burn up right then and there.

“Makoto?”

Makoto drops the garment like it burns him and whips his head around in horror to find Haru standing in the doorway with wide blue eyes, looking like a deer in headlights.

Which is kind of funny, Makoto thinks, a little hysterically, because he thought _he_ was the one caught in the act.

“Oh, god,” Makoto stammers, “Haru – sorry, _god_ , I’m sorry _,_ I wasn’t – Nagisa just came in here and – he just – oh, I’m sorry, I’m _so_ sorry, I didn’t mean to—” (He hadn’t even known his voice could get so high)

“N-no, Makoto – it’s fine, let me ex--” (Oh, Haru’s voice was cracking, too? Oh well now didn’t _that_ just make everything like a _thousand_ _times worse?_ )

“ _No! Oh_ , no, god, please, I’m the klutz that dropped it – even though _he’s_ the one who opened it, I don’t, don’t even – and _you_ certainly don’t have to – it’s fine, just let me—”

 _“Fuck,”_ Haru swears, sliding his back down the wall and tucking his face into his knees with a groan.

Makoto’s mouth works as he struggles to figure out what to say – Haru doesn’t curse often, it really only happens when he’s overwhelmed – be that in a good or bad way – but Makoto doesn’t see what could possibly be _good_ about this, so he tries to reassure him.

“I-it’s fine Haru, I’ll, just—”

“Makoto—”

“N-no it’s okay, it’s n-none of my business, I won’t bring it up ever, _ever_ if you don’t want me to—”

“Makoto, no, just—”

“—know it looks bad but I promise I wasn’t trying to—”

“Mako, it wasn’t supposed to be _your_ birthday present, it was supposed to be _mine_ ,” Haru interjects in exasperation, his words slightly muffled with his face still pressed into his knees in dismay.  

Instantly the hopeless rambling caught in his throat dies away, and Makoto is left gaping speechlessly at Haru.

“I….you….Haru, _what?”_

Dark blue eyes peer sullenly into wide green ones as Haru meets his gaze over the tops of his knees. “I’m gonna fucking _kill_ Nagisa,” he mutters darkly under his breath, before he sighs and lifts his head to rest his chin on his knees, regarding Makoto openly.

“I think you’d look pretty,” Haru says earnestly, sitting up and letting his head _thunk_ back softly against the wall, eyes cast up to the ceiling. “I dunno, I guess – I just, I saw you wearing that green dress months ago when we were babysitting—”

 _That_ startles a hysterical sound out of Makoto, and Haru lowers his chin slightly to level a sullen look at him. “Haru, you can’t possibly be—”

“Makoto, I dreamed about you in that dress for _weeks,_ ” Haru interjects dryly, which quickly makes open Makoto’s jaw snap back shut with a soft _clack_.  “The only thing that stopped _that_ one, was after I saw Nitori’s dress at the Samezuka culture festival.”

Haru can honestly say he’s never felt a chill _quite_ like the one he gets with the _Look_ Makoto fixes him with, and he _almost_ splutters in his haste to correct his boyfriend’s likely train of thought.

“ _Jesus, **no** Makoto,_ not about _Nitori, ew,_ ” Haru says, plainly appalled at the suggestion. Makoto snorts to cover the sheer wave of relief that washes over him. He wants to shake his head at the audacity Haru has to look even more offended than he had felt just mere seconds ago, as brief as it was.

“I meant the _dress_. _You_ in that dress. I just, couldn’t stop picturing you in that stupid, fucking dress,” Haru sighs, pressing the heels of his hands against his tired blue eyes.

Now _that_ shocks an honest to god laugh out of Makoto.

“H-Haru-chan, oh my g-o- _hod_ ,” he gasps, “You can’t be serious -- can you _actually imagine?_ I could _never_ pull that kind of look off, I’d look _terrible_ —”

Makoto abruptly stops at the odd, stricken look that flashes across Haru’s face, and the laughter dies as suddenly as it had appeared.

He’s never seen _that_ kind of expression on his boyfriend’s face before, and in that same split second he’s certain he _never_ wants to see it again, let alone be the cause of it.

“Makoto, how could you _say_ that?” Haru asks and, for the life of him, Makoto can’t spot a trace of anything beyond earnest confusion on Haru’s face.

“You’d look _gorgeous.”_

Makoto’s breath catches in his throat, and he tries to laugh it off again, but this time it sounds strangled. “Haru— _Haru-chan._ How many times have you _seen_ me next to Nitori at swim meets? Or--better yet, _Nagisa?_ We look _nothing alike_ ," he says as sincerely, gently as he can. “I wouldn’t— _couldn’t_ look pretty like they would wearing something like _that_.”

Makoto’s just being honest, but _god_ , what he wouldn’t give to get that kicked puppy look off Haru’s face—and he just, he doesn’t understand, what is he saying _wrong?_ What can he do to make Haru stop looking so _sad?_

“Makoto,” Haru says, voice fragile as glass, “Makoto I don’t _like_ Nitori, or _Nagisa_.  I like _you_. _You,_ Makoto. And – god, Makoto, you wouldn’t just look _pretty_.  You’d look _beautiful_."

“Oh Haru,” Makoto feels a sudden lump into his throat, and he gives a little pained laughing sigh. He stares down where he’s worrying the dress in his hands, unable to stand the face Haru’s making. “Haru no— _no,_ I wouldn’t—wouldn’t look like _them_ , I’d just look _ridiculous_ if I tried, I-I’d only disappoint y- _”_

“I always start from the collar,” Haru suddenly says, voice suddenly faint.

Makoto’s mouth works silently for a moment, and he glances up sharply from where he’s been fiddling with the dainty lace of the collar, fixing Haru with an incredulous look. Haru’s eyes are glued on his boyfriend’s large hands, where they’re curled into the delicate white, detailed fabric.

“Huh?”

“I like the idea of running my tongue along the collar. I want to taste your skin through the lace,” he says quietly. “I like the thought of seeing your muscles through the fabric. I really like the ways I’ve thought of making you cum all over that pretty green fabric.”

Makoto’s mouth is suddenly dry, so it takes some concentrated effort to swallow, his eyes flickering uncertainly between Haru’s eyes and the garment in his hands.

“Haru…”

“Every day, for months.”

“I…you… _really?”_

Makoto worries his lip between his teeth, trying to stamp down the heat simmering low in his belly to no avail. He still can’t quite bring himself to believe it, but…

But the way Haru’s been too shy to bring something up to him for weeks now.

The way Haru’s been staring dreamily at Makoto in class, even on mornings after they’ve rolled out of bed together

The way he’s been catching Haru crumpling up his usual doodles of what he knows tend to be studies of _him_ into his bag rather than sharing them with Mrs Tachibana (Makoto knows he knows, because they almost always find their way up on the refrigerator with Ren and Ran’s art).

“You’re not allowed to laugh at me,” Makoto says abruptly as he clambers to his feet, bending down to grab the shoes for good measure.

He doesn’t think he’s ever seen Haru whip his head around to look at him so abruptly, not even compared to when he casually drops the bribe of a pool.

“Makoto—”

But he doesn’t look at Haru, he _can’t_ or he doesn’t think he’ll be able to bring himself to do this, marching past him without another glance to lock himself in Haru’s bathroom, where he promptly collapses back against the door and tries to not quite scream into the thick material of the dress.

 _What the fuck is he doing_.

 _Haru isn’t kidding_ he repeats to himself like a mantra, slowly and methodically stripping and taking his time to work out how the suddenly complicated garment goes on.  _Haru’s being serious. Haru is asking you for something he wants. Haru just wants to see. You already_ know _how you’ll look, it’ll only take five seconds_.

Makoto tries to ignore the painful throb in his chest, his heart heavy with the certain knowledge of how disappointed Haru’s going to be when he sees how ridiculous he’s going to look -- _nothing_ like how it would be on small graceful figures like Nagisa and Nitori.

He figures it out in pieces, haltingly pulls each part on – the dress, first, followed by the apron, and he tries his best to smooth the wrinkles out – which is how he finds the lace headband and thigh high socks tucked away for safekeeping in the deep pocket, much to his chagrin.

But it’s part of the package, he figures, and so he rolls the nearly sheer socks all the way up his legs, and nestles the headband into his hair. He makes it a point not to look up at the mirror over the sink because so help him, if he caught sight of the train wreck he was assembling, he would likely drop dead, and what a sad way _that_ would be to end his eighteenth birthday.

Makoto toes the green shoes on (marveling briefly at the fact that they actually _fit)_ and ties the bow behind his back with ease – at least being an older brother to a sister was good for something.

Unable to put it off any longer, he drops his hand down to the doorknob, fingers curling around the handle. Still, he can’t help but pause, the temptation to glance to the side and see his reflection stronger than ever.

But then he screws his eyes tight and takes a deep breath, wrenching the door open and propelling himself out before he can think twice, stumbling a bit in his shoes and promptly shrinking back against the door, hands digging into his skirt.

“There, you see,” Makoto tries to sound like he’s laughing it off, but he’s pretty sure he sounds like he’s choking. It probably doesn’t help that he can’t seem to look up from his shiny, patent leathered shoes. “It doesn’t _work_ on me, Haru, I’m just too--”

 _"Don’t move,_ ” Haru says, and his tone is sharper, firmer than Makoto has ever heard it directed at him, and if that isn’t enough to make him freeze in place from where his hand is blindly scrabbling behind himself to find the knob again, well, there’s always the fact that Makoto never _has_ been any good at saying no to Haru.

Makoto swallows thickly and forces himself to stand stock still, worrying anxiously at the bottom of his dress. It falls short on him, he’s all too aware of that now, _beyond_ indecently short—the hem of the skirt barely reaches his fingertips, but he uses that to his advantage, both hands burying themselves into the trim of the puffy fabric to try and tug it as far down as it can go.

Every nerve of Makoto’s body feels like it’s standing on end as he senses Haru slowly approach him, his face flushing hotly as he _feels_ dark blue eyes drinking the sight of him in. He wants to squirm, but even the smallest fidget is a painful reminder of the straining white, lacy thigh highs, threatening to tear at the slightest flex of his muscles.

He feels a cool hand on his burning face and he leans his cheek into it helplessly, searching for some kind, _any kind_ of relief.  
  
But Makoto still can’t bring himself to meet Haru’s eyes, and his gaze flits away pretty much anywhere but Haru’s face mere inches away from him – and that’s when he accidentally meets his own eyes in the mirror hung along the door to the closet, still ajar.

And he can’t help but.

Notice. Notice how _wrong_ it looks.

How wrong it looks on _him._

The green fabric clings far too tightly to Makoto’s form, and makes it abundantly clear that Makoto’s body is not a girlish one. Not in the least.

And he’s too tall – far, _far_ too tall to be able to pull something like this off. He’s downright _lucky_ it even comes down to his mid-thigh. The additional height even these meager kitten heels give him doesn’t help at all.

His thighs are thick enough that he thinks it’s a sheer miracle that the dainty thigh highs hadn’t merely torn when he rolled them up his calves.

But the cherry on top is the cute, frilled headband ducked into his spikey chestnut hair that isn’t silky and smooth like Nitori’s, or full of cherubic curls like Nagisa’s, and…

And it’s enough -- all of it _more_ than enough -- to break Makoto’s nerve.

“It looks _stupid_ ,” Makoto blurts out, squeezing his eyes shut against the prickling of hot, embarrassed tears but he can’t, he _just_ _can’t help_ but babble. He kicks off the heels in a fit, hating the way he’s tottering just standing there. He wraps his arms around his stomach and curls up on himself, trying not to feel sick. “It’s supposed to look pretty, I know, look pretty like on Nitori, o-or like it would on Nagisa, but I c-can’t, Haru, I don’t, **_I_** _**don’t** , _I don’t **_look_** like --”

“Please? Please Makoto?” Haru asks in a small, odd voice that makes Makoto close his mouth so hard his teeth _click_ together almost painfully.

“Please let me see you.”

He knows that voice. Admittedly, he hasn’t heard it very often, but he’s well aware of that tone.

It’s Haru begging.

And Haru doesn’t beg a lot. He never did. Not for anything – not even when they were children, not the way _Makoto_ did every time he tried to bring a stray cat home. Haru sulked, Haru pouted, Haru even threw one or two tantrums when he was younger— especially when it came to Makoto staying over on a school night.

But he had never, _ever_ begged.

Makoto has only ever heard Haru come close to begging twice in recent memory, and both times--well. The thought alone is enough to make Makoto’s ears turn red. Both times, Haru had most _certainly_ made those occasions worth his while—and the reminder is enough for the first hints of arousal to stir low in his stomach since he crumbled in the face of Haru’s confessed fantasies.

So he takes a slow breath, letting a few painfully thudding heartbeats pass before he eventually nods, unwilling to open his eyes but forcing himself to relax, coaxing the tension from his shoulders.

He feels those cool fingertips on his cheek gently slide down to cup his chin, easing his head up from where he’s tucked it against the hollow of his throat.

And then, slowly, Makoto braces himself, opening his eyes and mustering the courage to bravely meet Haru’s gaze from where he’d fixed them on his socked toes.

Haru’s expression alone almost makes him squeeze his eyes shut tight again in embarrassment, not to mention against a surprised shiver of pleasure.

Because his boyfriend is staring at him with big blue eyes filled with so much _heat_ , such unfathomable _want_ that it sends a sympathetic shock of arousal jolting through him from his fingers to his toes.

Haru’s fingers tremble slightly as they reach out to carefully trace the line of lace at Makoto’s neckline. Makoto watches the muscles of Haru’s throat twitch as his jaw tightens against a low, desperate sound when he slips just the tip of his finger beneath the taught, frilly material at the dip of Makoto’s collar, feeling for himself just how tightly it clings to him.

His left hand gingerly settles at Makoto’s waist, almost as if he’s afraid Makoto will disappear if he doesn’t hold fast, and maybe that’s a good idea because honestly Makoto’s feet want him to retreat more than they ever have in his life.

His right continues its gentle, almost reverent journey down Makoto’s form, sliding gently to the small of his back, tucking beneath the bulky bow of the apron, and Makoto’s eyes dart down to watches Haru’s throat bob as he swallows once, hard, taking a deep shuddering breath in.

Haru’s left hand joins his right in his careful explorations, both hands smoothing lovingly down Makoto’s sides, all the way to the hem of the sinfully short skirt, featherlight fingertips skimming along the tops of Makoto’s thighs.

Makoto is already so weak on his feet that even just that small movement sends him buckling. He lets out a strangled sound as both hands fly to grab Haru’s shoulders for support. Haru seems equally startled but easily grabs for Makoto’s hips to steady him, pushing him back against the door, chests flush together.

“Fuck,” Haru says hoarsely, sounding like he’d just run a marathon, and he tucks his face into the crook of Makoto’s neck, immediately running his tongue along the lace of the collar. His voice breaks on a groan that sounds like it’s ripped from the very depths of him.  “ _Fuck_ , Makoto, you look _incredible.”_

Makoto makes a small, vulnerable sound at Haru’s words and the way his mouth tickles his neck. He buries his hot face into Haru’s shoulder, his pulse quickening as he feels the _very_ prominent proof of just how much Haru likes what he sees pressing hard against his stomach.

He must be dreaming, he _has_ to be. Haru doesn’t…he couldn’t _really_ … “You’re just sayi-”

Haru’s palms _smack_ sharply on either side of his head against the door, fingers splayed as Haru leans up and into Makoto’s ear to bite his lobe sharp enough that Makoto gasps.

“I’m really _fucking_ _not_ ,” he growls – _growls,_ and _oh god_ , if _that_ isn’t the sexiest thing Makoto’s ever _heard --_ “Makoto. I’ve been cumming to the thought of this for about six weeks. _Six weeks,_ and I could never have _dreamed_ you could look this good. You’re gorgeous. You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen, you always _have_ been.”

Makoto’s breath hitches and he bites the inside of his lip hard because he is _not_ going to cry at being called beautiful, damn it. It’s not like Haru hasn’t said stuff like that before, it’s just—when he looks like _this…_ it just can’t--

Soft hands cup the sides of his face gently, and there’s a warm, sweet mouth pressing against his. Makoto can’t help but lean down into it, letting Haru claim his mouth in a surprisingly sweet kiss for all his apparent desperation.

“Stop thinking dumb things about my boyfriend, okay?” Haru murmurs as he pulls away, swiping his thumb fondly along Makoto’s lower lip.

Makoto manages a watery hiccup of a laugh and scrubs the back of his hand hard against his eyes, smiling bashfully down at his best friend. “I’ll try,” he says softly, and then, quickly, “thankyoufornotlaughing.”

Haru stares at him, clearly taken aback and somehow, it’s _that_ look of honest to god bewilderment that drives the matter home for Makoto. “I’d _never_ laugh at you,” Haru says, baffled.

Makoto smiles, a little sheepishly. “I know, Haru-chan.”

Haru blinks, puzzled, but Makoto’s done feeling sorry for himself now -- because really, what on earth does he have to feel sorry for when he has the best boyfriend in the whole damn world?

So Makoto takes a deep breath and draws in on himself, uncertainly tring to make himself seem a little smaller, ducking his head so he peers up at Haru through his dark lashes and offers an awkward, sweet smile up at his boyfriend. “S-so do you like what you see, M-Master?” he asks, teasingly, and while his face feels hotter than the sun, it’s worth it for the way Haru’s jaw goes slack.

“Okay, no, fuck that,” Haru tries to demand, but his voice sounds ragged, like it’s been dragged across gravel. “You’re not allowed to say that kind of thing, **_shit_** _,_ _stop looking_ at me like that.”

“Or what, Master?” Makoto grins despite himself, batting his eyes dramatically, “Whatever will you do, _punish_ m- _nghh-!”_

What happens next transpires too quickly for Makoto to know exactly how it happens, but he swears he goes from leaning against the wall to falling back with an _oomph_ onto Haru’s bed in the blink of an eye, Haru’s hands pinning his wrists down on either side of his head.

Haru’s eyes flick triumphantly over Makoto’s body—all the way from the top of his head, admiring the cute, frilly headband, down to that lacy collar he could never get out of his head, down the shiny buttons down the front and down to--

“Oh for **_fuck’s sake_** , Makoto, are you trying to _kill me_?” Haru chokes out before he can stop himself, and Makoto distantly notches another unexpected win for him, even though he knows he’s blushing all the way down to his chest by this point.

He squirms beneath Haru, more than a little self-conscious.

Because the skirt and apron had flipped up, as he’d been shoved onto the bed and.

Well…

To be fair, he’d been _pretty damn sure_ he was simply going to make an about face back into the bathroom when Haru burst out laughing to rip the embarrassing mess of frills off in seconds – so.

So _maybe_ , in a pique of desperation to really look the part to prove his point, he hadn’t thought that the wrinkles from his boxers would have looked very appealing…

Haru’s gone all pink, and it makes an earnest smile split across Makoto’s face. Haru’s mouth twitches briefly before he sighs and lets an echoing grin echo across his own.

“ _There’s_ my Makoto,” he murmurs, ducking his head to taste his boyfriend’s smile. Makoto sighs and kisses back as good as he gets, and he lifts his hands from Haru’s slackened grip to tangle in the dark, silky strands, deepening the kiss.

Haru only draws back when they’re panting for breath, and he shifts his weight over Makoto, his eyes greedily drinking in Makoto’s blushing, sprawled figure. One of Haru’s knees slides between Makoto’s, nudging his thighs apart when they unconsciously draw together against the indecent picture he knows he must make.

Haru raises an eyebrow pointedly until Makoto bites the inside of his cheek and lets his knees fall to the sides, feeling his pulse jump in his throat at the way Haru’s pupils dilate with interest, his gaze flicking up and down Makoto’s prone form, clearly committing the sight to memory.

“God, Makoto,” Haru breathes after what feels like a short eternity, running fingers gently down Makoto’s chest, his tongue darting out to wet his dry lips as he smoothes his palm down along the taught, sheen fabric straining over Makoto’s broad chest.

“I didn’t think I could want anything more than seeing you like this...” he almost drawls, fingertips dancing down, down the flat plane of Makoto’s stomach, just to feel his muscles twitch under the ticklish touch.

He leans in to Makoto’s ear, mouthing at his jaw as he whispers conspiratorially. “But now, more than anything, I just want to show you all the ways I’ve dreamed of making you _come apart_ in it.”

Makoto clamps his mouth shut against an embarrassing keen, barely able to bring himself to meet Haru’s midnight dark eyes, gazing shyly up at Haru’s lascivious smile.

He musters what little nerve he has left, and tilts his head, ignoring the way he feels the headband slip further off his head as he summons a coy, shy little smile.

“So do it,” he says, swallowing hard. He’s never been so acutely aware of his Adam’s apple bobbing as he is in this moment with such a tight collar—especially when as he sees Haru’s eyes dart down to stare in fascination, no doubt to watch the delicate lace collar hug the masculine swell of his neck.

He’s not sure if it’s his words or the motion that breaks down the last vestiges of Haru’s restraint, but he find himself giving a startled half yelp, half moan as Haru grinds his hips down mercilessly into Makoto’s, his teammate’s mouth pressing hotly against his throat.

“ _Ha-_ ru,” Makoto gasps, fingers digging into the bedspread beneath him as Haru’s lips and tongue lavish attention on his neck, sucking hungrily at his skin through the delicate swirls of lace there. His mouth leaves wet, rapidly cooling trails of fabric that feel weirdly good against Makoto’s quickly heating skin, and the brunet lets out a shuddering sigh, doing his best to hold back the whimpers that already threaten to escape.

“ _God_ , Makoto,” Haru murmurs into his stomach, nuzzling his face into the soft fabric of the apron and tangling one hand into the sash around his waist, impatiently following the path to the small of Makoto’s back to fumble with the bow until it pulls free. He promptly casts the offending garment aside, startling a laugh from Makoto. A smile tugs at the corner of Haru’s lips at that.

“Hey,” Haru says suddenly. Makoto blinks and waits, but nothing else is forthcoming.

“Yeah, Haru?”

“I really think you’re beautiful, Makoto,” Haru says quietly, reaching down and pushing Makoto’s tousled bangs out of his eyes. “Not just like this, y’know? I think you’re gorgeous all the time.”

“Haru,” Makoto says, startled, and he’s horrified to find he’s blinking back sudden, stinging tears.

“I love the way you look when you fall asleep on my shoulder on the bus going to swim meets. I love the way you look when you’re playing with the twins. I love the way you look when we swim relays together. I love the way you look when you laugh, when your nose scrunches up when you’re mad, or when you’ve just woken up and see me. Why do you think I can’t stop drawing you all the time?” Haru drops a soft kiss on Makoto’s nose, then his forehead, and then his cheeks, kissing away the two errant tears that slip down Makoto’s flushed cheeks despite his best efforts.

“You’re beautiful, too, Haru,” Makoto manages to get out, rubbing his face into one puffy sleeve to dry his eyes. “You’re always so--”

“Hey, we’re talking about _you_ here,” Haru says sternly, but his eyes are smiling, and his kisses resume their lazy path down Makoto’s front, dropping a kiss along each of the three shiny pearl button details, then lower…and lower—

 _“Haru-ka,”_ Makoto chokes out as Haru buries his face under the ruffles of his skirt, his head disappearing under the short but thick layers of fabric.

“You’re pretty when you’re under me like this, too,” Haru’s muffled voice says, almost dreamily, from somewhere under all that lace and satin, and Makoto lets out a breathless, embarrassed laugh. " _Especially_ like this.”

“Haru,” Makoto whines, covering his face with his hands and arching slightly as Haru’s smooth cheek rubs against the soft, stretchy fabric of one thigh, his hot breath sending shivers up his spine. Every nerve feels like it’s standing on end as he feels Haru’s teeth gently catch around the top of one stocking to tug down with his teeth, rolling it down to his ankle before kissing his way all the way back up and pushing the layers of fabric up past Makoto’s waist and—

Makoto smothers a sharp cry into the back of his hand as Haru firmly sucks his cock into his mouth without preamble, grateful for the arm that Haru rests firmly across his hips, gently pinning him down as his hips buck up towards the incredible wet heat.

“Ah, _hah, Haru,_ oh _god_ —” Makoto pants helplessly, fingers scrabbling against the sheets until they wind up grasping at Haru’s fingers where they’re splayed across his hip. Their fingers tangle tightly together as Haru licks and sucks Makoto off like his life depends on it, his own hips grinding down against the mattress for relief.

Haru pulls away without warning, giving Makoto a chance to catch his breath. He carelessly rubs the back of his hand across his mouth before pushing himself up, leaning over Makoto to fumble blindly on his nightstand. He leans down to swallow Makoto’s whine with a sloppy kiss as his fingers wrap around the tube he’s looking for. He’s plainly just as keen to get back to it as Makoto, if the way he practically throws himself back down Makoto’s body to take him deep into his throat with relish is any indication.

Makoto jerks a little at the first, cool touch of slick fingers trailing up the cleft of his ass but he quickly spreads his legs wider for Haru, his breath barely catching as he easily takes Haru’s first finger and then a second, too far gone with pleasure to mind the intrusion much as Haru’s clever tongue traces the vein on the underside of his cock.

He can’t help but wince a bit, biting his lips when Haru eases a third finger in, but Haru is as gentle as ever, smoothly matching the motions of his mouth with the gentle, gradual thrust of his fingers inside him, and in no time Makoto is desperately trying to rock his hips back down to meet Haru’s fingers.

“Do you wanna cum like this?” Haru asks softly, mumbling around Makoto’s cock as he rubs the head against the inside of his cheek, teasingly grazing his nimble fingertips over that spot, making Makoto cry out hoarsely.

 _“Yes,”_ Makoto gasps, almost sobs, fingers fumbling to tangle themselves in Haru’s long hair, tugging softly. “ _Yes yesyes,_ Haru, _please_ , **_please_** let me–”

And Makoto doesn’t say anything more after that, his voice cracking into a silent scream as Haru hooks his fingers deep to grind into his prostate at the same time he hollows his cheeks around Makoto’s throbbing cock and he comes with a violent shudder, colors dancing across the back of his vision as he clenches his eyes shut.

The brunet’s voice comes back to him as his voice breaks into a shrill sound as Haru continues working his mouth around him, who swallows around Makoto until he knows it’s too much, pulling back the split second before he knows Makoto would start pushing at his head, begging him to _stop Haru h-haah t-too much, it’s too much_ \--

Haru pulls back licking his lips, his face flushed from exertion and he ambles to his knees, hovering over Makoto and dropping loving kisses along his collarbone as the other swimmer catches his breath.

“Makoto, Makoto can I-” Haru asks urgently, voice just this side of shaky, and Makoto nods haltingly, still trying to catch his breath but wriggling onto his stomach and pushing himself up onto his knees. He settles his weight onto his elbows, leaning in to press his face into the cool plush of the pillows and breathing in Haru’s scent.

Haru makes a broken little noise behind him, and Makoto cracks one hazy green eye open to smile back at him sweetly over his shoulder, pushing his ass back towards Haru. It’s always more than worth the color flooding into his cheeks to see Haru’s slack mouth fall a little open at the display, and he hastily pushes his pants and jammers down. Makoto’s mouth goes dry with want as Haru’s thick cock gives a hard twitch against his belly.

The dark-haired boy drapes himself across Makoto’s broad, frill-covered back, and Makoto’s arousal sky rockets again at the telltale _click_ of the bottle as Haru leans up to drop kisses across his shoulders, his breath hitching as he ruts into his own slick palm a few times, trying to take the edge off.

Makoto cranes his neck back further to meet Haru’s mouth in a brief, sloppy kiss, and Haru swallows down the soft sound Makoto makes when he dips his tongue into his mouth to taste him, and he tastes like chocolate birthday cake and heat and _Makoto_ and there couldn’t possibly be anything better than _that_.

“Love you, Makoto, I love you so much,” Haru breathes against his ear, wrapping one arm around Makoto’s waist and pressing his mouth against Makoto’s shoulder to muffle his groan as he pushes in to the silken heat, knees buckling a little as Makoto pants through the initial intrusion, muscles fluttering around him, and Haru is almost afraid to open his eyes…

Because he knows, without a doubt, he’s going to blow his load if he looks at Makoto right now, and he’s _not about to fucking do that_ after Makoto’s been so brave for him tonight, so sweet and determined and _perfect_.

So Haru takes his time soothing Makoto as the trembling boy catches his breath, keeping his face tucked safely between Makoto’s shoulder blades, nuzzling his cheek against the silky, sweat-slick fabric straining across Makoto’s sculpted back.

His hands wander blindly over Makoto’s body, and he wonders for the millionth time that Makoto can’t seem to see the incredible appeal of the contrast between soft satin covering toned muscle, and he knows in this moment that he has to show Makoto just what this does to him.

“Look at you, Mako-chan,” Haru murmurs, smiling a little to himself at the way Makoto stills a little at the nickname, plainly startled. “How can you not know how hot you are?”

He senses more than he sees Makoto’s mouth part (presumably in protest) and so he rakes his nails teasingly along Makoto’s sides to make his breath hitch in that cute way it always does, his hands easing lower and lower as he buries his fingers into the fluffy folds of the satin and cotton skirt.  

“You’re the one I’m crazy about,” Haru says against the skin behind Makoto’s left ear, kissing the shell an afterthought. “You should know that by now.”

“I know that, Haru-chan,” Makoto whispers, mouth parted for breath as his lashes flutter against his cheeks, and Haru knows he’s tempted to hide his face in the pillows and he loves that Makoto fights the urge for him.

“Then why does it take having me inside you to make you believe me when I tell you you’re fucking gorgeous like this?” Haru teases, rocking slowly against Makoto and making them both shudder. Makoto chokes out an embarrassed laugh, giving a shallow shrug as he arches experimentally back towards Haru, eliciting twin groans as they start to move slowly.

“’m not built like your typical maid, Haru,” Makoto slurs out wryly, a little too far gone in finding their rhythm to be self-conscious, and Haru huffs a laugh into the sweat slick nape of Makoto’s neck.

The urgent edge he’s so wary of tipping over passes with their banter, and Haru finally cautiously allows himself to draw back, letting his eyes rove hungrily over Makoto’s body, drinking in his gorgeous image.

“No,” he groans agreeably, “You’re not. You’re a thousand fucking times better. You’re my Makoto.”

He sees a bright, if hazy grin rise unbidden to Makoto’s lips, finally making him turn his face into the pillows to hide; and Haru feels any lingering worries instantly dissipate, because finally…

 _Finally,_ he knows Makoto believes him with a smile like that, and he starts to rock his hips against his larger boyfriend’s in earnest, reaching his free hand down, fingers seeking urgently beneath the frills until they wrap around Makoto’s, quickly thickening cock once more. He relishes the way he feels him swell even more in his hand, running his thumb over the velvety head and smearing the precome down his shaft, slickening his strokes and making Makoto jerk beneath him with a soft cry.

“Haru, _nghh—Hhha-_ ruka, w-wait--”

Haru immediately freezes, frowning a little in confusion when Makoto lets out a despondent wail, “Makoto, what—”

“ _Nnnoo…_ nnn _…’mgonnacumalloverthisdress,”_ Makoto gasps out in a rush, canting his hips helplessly back into Haru’s, making him draw a loud hiss of breath in through his teeth as he blinks rapidly, caught up staring rapturously down at his wanton boyfriend.

“Makoto,” Haru says sweetly, almost low enough to be a purr, and Makoto peeks out from the safety of the pillows, swallowing thickly at the filthy smirk on Haru’s lips.

“I wasn’t kidding earlier. I meant it when I said wanna see you cum _all_ _over_ _that_ _pretty…little…thing_.” He punctuates each word with a short thrust of his hips, making Makoto cry out shrilly, louder and louder with each jerk forward.

Haru isn’t sure Makoto can possibly blush any darker, but he’ll be damned if he doesn’t try.

“I want to see you make a mess of yourself,” Haru breathes as he leans down to nibble at Makoto’s ear, wrenching a stuttering gasp from the body beneath his. “Make a mess of my bed, of that pretty green dress.”

 _“Haru,”_ Makoto yelps, high and thin and _god_ Haru loves that tone of voice, the one where Makoto’s delighted and scandalized all at once. It tells him that his boyfriend is quickly spiraling out of control, teetering on the edge, and all he needs is a little push or two.

And Haru is very, _very_ good at pushing Makoto’s buttons.

So he slides one hand down to lightly drag his fingernails down Makoto’s stomach, relishing the familiar whimper that escapes Makoto’s throat. He presses himself flush up against Makoto’s ass as he moves faster, starting to grind small, short circles in _just the right way_ to make Makoto’s arms give out.

Haru’s other arm is already moving to Makoto’s rescue, wrapping snug around Makoto’s waist to hold him up as he jerks Makoto off in an unforgiving rhythm, ripping desperate cries one after another from Makoto’s throat.

“Make a mess for me, Makoto,” Haru grits out against Makoto’s shoulder, before biting down _hard_ in the juncture between Makoto’s neck and shoulder, shuddering a little at the foreign feel of lace beneath his tongue that accompanies the familiar salty tang of Makoto’s hot skin.

And Makoto does, god he really does, biting down into the pillow to muffle his scream as Haru’s clever ministrations wrench him forcefully over the edge, and Haru’s own orgasm takes him pretty much entirely by surprise only a few heartbeats later as he’s suddenly overwhelmed with sensation as he watches Makoto fall apart beneath him.

It all catches up to him in an instant -- the way the satin beneath him feels so soft and cool against his burning skin; the sensation of Makoto’s sticky cum drips down his wrist into the frills and ribbons beneath them; but most of all, it’s Makoto’s sobbing mantra of _Haru **Haru** **Haru**_ that pairs so sweetly with the sight of his large, strong fingers twisting into that pretty green fabric that proves to be too much for him.

Haru swears colorfully through his own release as he shakily thrusts once, twice, _threefourfive_ more times before his own knees give out, and he collapses onto Makoto’s back, the impact earning twin _oofs,_ followed by a burst of short, breathless laughter that are the only sounds to briefly interrupt their gasps for air.

“Haru-chan,” Makoto groans weakly after a good thirty seconds have passed, slapping his palm weakly at the bed sheets beside him. Haru grunts in acknowledgment, gathering what little wits he has left to coordinate rolling off his boyfriend’s (admittedly comfortable) broad back to curl up against Makoto’s side, tangling his legs together with Makoto’s longer ones and letting out a long, low sated sigh.

They lay in blissed out silence for a good few minutes longer, waiting for their hearts to stop racing, but eventually Makoto starts fidgeting, making Haru crack one eye open in a rather catlike manner to glare up at his best friend from where his cheek is pressed comfortably into the cushion of Makoto’s puffy sleeve. “What?” he mumbles. Makoto gives a sheepish little shrug, grinning apologetically down at Haru.

“It’s, um, getting kind of sticky and gross,” Makoto says meekly, tugging at his spit and sweat-click collar with an amused grimace. Haru huffs out a laugh and pushes himself up to a seat, gently helping defrock his, alright, _yes_ , rather sticky boyfriend.

“Oh god,” Makoto mutters in mild horror, holding the perfectly defiled garment out at arms length. “I don’t…Haru, I’m sorry, but I don’t think this is ever going to be the same.” Haru’s already flopped back down to sprawl beside his teammate, and he lazily raises a hand to idly wave Makoto’s concern away.

“Don’t worry, Makoto,” Haru replies, “I wasn’t expecting to use it again anyway. Hell, I wasn’t even sure I was going to ask you when my birthday rolled around in the first place.  But that's what dry cleaning's for, yeah?”

 _"Haru,"_ Makoto half gasps, half laughs, "We _cannot_ bring something in a state like--like _that,_ to any decent, upstanding buisness."

Haru mutters something under his breath in a way that tells Makoto that they haven't had the last of _that_ particular argument, but he's too sated to grumble.

Makoto lets his hands fall into his lap, absentmindedly toying with the big, floppy bow on the front that had made him cringe when he’d first noticed it in his reflection earlier—and god, how _long ago_ that brief anxiety-attack felt already.

Haru always _had_ had a knack for getting Makoto out of his head and making everything better -- going as far back as when he’d had his share of night terrors after the boating incident during sleepovers.

“I dunno,” he muses aloud lightly, “Maybe a sundress would be more my style.”

Makoto _knows_ his ears are pink, but it’s more than worth it to see the way Haru goes very still in his peripheral vision, plainly struggling not to react visibly.

The brunet bites back a smile, glancing down at his very still boyfriend knowingly. “What other dresses did _you_ think about out, Haru?” Makoto asks sweetly.

Makoto waits patiently for Haru to decide whether or not he’s going to stay mum on the subject. He’s almost given up, settling back down to nestle alongside Haru, more than ready to doze off when Haru suddenly rolls over onto his other side.

Makoto watches curiously from the comfort of his pillow as Haru gropes blindly but patiently for his nightstand drawer, too boneless to exert any further effort (honestly, Makoto doesn’t blame him—he can’t fathom moving too much either right now).

Finally, he manages to pull out a stash of crumpled papers, dropping them gracelessly on his boyfriends face with an offhanded _All of them”_   before flopping back down onto his side, studying Makoto seriously.

Makoto splutters a little, brushing the papers gingerly off his face, picking on up and raising it up so it catches the light of Haru’s lamp, and his mouth drops open, because.

Well. Here are Haru’s missing doodles from the past few weeks.

And -- wow. Haru hadn’t been kidding. He feels the blush crawl up from his neck as he shuffles through the drawings, fascinated.

Every square inch of the loose-leaf papers are _covered_ in doodles of Makoto. That wouldn’t be particularly shocking, it’s more the twenty plus styles of dresses Haru has painstakingly drawn him in.

There are swing dresses. Summer festival dresses. Cocktail and black tie dresses, and--sure enough, even sundresses. The various styles quickly give way to carefully depicted studies of the infamous maid dress from the festival, though, and Makoto can’t _believe_ the meticulous details that Haru has put into these sketches.

He had to bite his lip to hide the stupid, watery smile that wants to spread across his face because not once, not even _once_ does Haru draw Makoto looking anything less than exactly the way he is. He doesn’t ever slim his biceps for thin sleeves, or take a few inches off his thighs for slinky gowns. Rather, there are carefully drawn lines to show the way the fabric would be pulled taught across his deltoids, and all the dresses fall exactly where one would expect them to on someone as tall as Makoto.

“Haru, you really wanted this. Just, me. Dressed like this. Didn’t you?” Makoto says, swallowing the happy lump in his throat, and his boyfriend looks up at him uncomprehendingly before his eyes go wide with alarm at Makoto’s too bright eyes

“I—uh, yeah, I just thought… you’d look really good, and. I couldn’t stop thinking about—Makoto, is -- are these not okay?” Haru’s voice comes out a little smaller than normal, and Makoto violently shakes his head, as if he can shake any creeping worries away from Haru for him.

“ _No,_ Haru, it’s not that at all,” Makoto reassures him earnestly, gently smoothing out the rumpled drawings before reaching over Haru to carefully set them down.

“I just, y’know, get caught up in my own head a little sometimes.” He cuffs Haru’s shoulder affectionately, when Haru snorts loudly at what they both know is a _massive_ understatement. But Makoto doesn’t have time to address that, now, because he’s already struggling to find the right words, because he doesn’t think he’s doing such a good job getting at the crux of the issue (well, _his_ issue).

“I _mean,_ I just don’t always remember how literal you are, when you ask for something you want,” he pauses, swallowing thickly again before going on. “Here I was, thinking I couldn’t possibly look the way you wanted, when all along—” and finally, Makoto can trail off, relief washing over him at the way Haru’s eyes light up with understanding despite Makoto’s stammering, stilted attempts to explain himself.

He lists his head off the pillow to rest his chin on his palm, sporting an exasperated but fond expression. “Yes, Makoto,” Haru says dryly, trying to keep a reluctant smile at bay. “When I said I wanted to see you in a dress, I meant _you,_ you big dummy.”

Warmth floods through Makoto, and he turns to burry his goofy smile into the delicate curve of Haru’s shoulder. “Okay, Haru.”

“I don’t even want to think about how anyone else would look wearing this dress—if it’s not you, I don’t care.”

“Ok- _ay_ Haru.”

“And I _don’t_ want to share you wearing it with anyone else,” Haru insists with finality, a slight scowl on his lips. “It was bad enough getting Rin to help me out getting my hands on one, at the cultural festival,” he grumbles as he recalls the memory.

“I don’t even want to _think_ about how insufferable Nagisa would be if he—”

Haru breaks off and they share a Look.

“Oh my god, he’s never going let us hear the end of this,” Makoto says faintly, regarding Haru with dull horror. “He asked for _pictures_ , Haru—”

“Well _fuck_ that,” Haru says, affronted, and Makoto buries his face hopelessly in Haru’s chest, trying to curl tight enough into Haru that he just disappears and never has to think about it again.

Because if there’s anything they know about their resident gossip, it was that he was more than capable of keeping his big blabbermouth shut…for the right price. Makoto knew Nagisa was keenly aware he wasn’t going to be getting any pictures out of this debacle, so what could he have possibly been angling for--?

The answer hits him like a ton of bricks, and he’s pretty sure Haru’s just figured it out too, if the mildly disgusted, mostly horrified look on his face is any indication.

“Well…” Makoto reluctantly says, knowing it really has to be said for the reality to sink in. “He _was_ awfully disappointed when it didn’t fit him after he tried it on…” he trails off, because he really, _really_ doesn’t want to think about--

 _“Goddammit,”_ Haru complains, “I’m going to have to help get him a motherfucking dress to go dominate Rei in, aren’t I? Fucking _gross._ ”

**Author's Note:**

> As ever, thank you so much for reading through to the end. I hope this at least tickled your fancy and made you smile, made you laugh, heck, maybe it even made you cry. I myself had a helluva good time writing it, and I truly can't wait to come back with more. Again, many thanks for taking the time to share in the love we all have for these two swimming nerds, I hope you enjoyed it!


End file.
